


Guess I'm Into This

by PseudonymMcWriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymMcWriter/pseuds/PseudonymMcWriter
Summary: Follow-up toNever Thought I'd Be Into This.You and Connor are using Hank's bedroom and you're not being very subtle about it. What else can a hard-boiled, eccentric police lieutenant do?
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank Anderson/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Guess I'm Into This

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dying at my own imagined scenario of you and Connor doing the Easy A fake sex - that's CANON.
> 
> This is a follow-up to [Never Thought I'd Be Into This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092566). I wrote this in a fugue state, I will not accept responsibility, y'all asked for it.

Hank steps out of the shower and presses the towel to his face, the material stifling his groan - like he’s some angsty teenager screaming into a pillow. The sounds from the bedroom have quietened down, but now it’s the absence of noise that puts him on edge. What if something's happened? You might have busted Connor's circuits. He might have forgotten his strength. All of a sudden it seems like a lot of things could have gone wrong.

Drying himself as quickly as possible, Hank’s glad the shower’s done something to clear his head. It’s not much, but it’s... 

Well, it’s something. 

Tugging on his sweatpants and DPD shirt, Hank walks to the door, bare feet slapping heavily on the damp tiles. He hesitates before opening it, as if he’s expecting you and Connor to be waiting right outside the door. For what purpose, though, Hank can’t possibly guess. The lock opens with a click.

Empty.

“Phew...” Hank exhales louder than he needs to, trying to make it as clear as possible that he’s in the hallway. Feeling like a fool, he takes slow heavy steps towards the bedroom door and clears his throat loudly. “You...uhh... you done in there?”

The door is closed - either you or Connor must have taken a break to shut it. Hank doesn’t know whether to be offended by that: was it to stop him from spying on you, or because you thought you needed to save his blushes? Either way, too little too late.

When there’s no reply, Hank raps his knuckles on the faded wood. It occurs to him that he’s under no obligation to be such a doormat. As if insulted by his own brain’s accusation, Hank knocks harder.

“Hey!” He calls, his voice still hoarse and a little slurred. “If you’re not out of there in ten-... no, FIVE seconds, I’m gonna-...” 

Hank almost trips headfirst into you when you open the door. The sight of your naked body so close knocks the wind out of his sails and he falters, trying not to gawk like some old pervert.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, your voice innocent but your eyes bright and teasing. Fuck, Hank had forgotten what you looked like when you were... well...

“No, everything’s not okay,” Hank’s tone is sharp, but even he can hear the effort in it, like he has to work hard just to sound mad at you. He’s trying to keep his eyes on your face but it’s almost impossible, so instead he looks over your head. He can’t spot Connor, but that’s probably for the best. He wouldn’t have any issues with his temper if he caught sight of that plastic prick tangled up in his bedsheets.

“Come on, Hank...” You lean towards him, opening the door a little wider. The inviting smile on your face has the opposite effect than intended. Hank backs up. 

“No, thanks. I’ll just... I’ll take the couch,” He waves you away, avoiding eye contact completely. “But tell the android he owes me two weeks paperwork.”

“Okay,” You reply with a disappointed shrug, as if to say: Your loss. You close the door before Hank can get another word in, leaving him alone in the hallway - the fucking third wheel in his own goddamn house. Hank slopes off to the living room and turns on the TV. Sumo is lying by the sofa; when Hank sits, they share a conciliatory glance.

“Just you and me, huh?” He grumbles, flicking distractedly through the channels. Before he’s even really settled, the noises start again.

The unmistakable sound of his bed springs has his mind turning at once to the fact that he’ll need to buy a new mattress. Connor can pay for that...

In fact, YOU can. 

Hank realizes he’s harbouring a lot of hostility for the android considering it was your idea in the first place. He didn't doubt that Connor might have encouraged you when he wasn't around - Hank doesn't want to call it manipulative, but the android always knows exactly which buttons to press to get a reaction, and he can only assume that’s the same when it comes to flirting - but it had been pretty clear for a while that you were interested in him. It isn't really fair for Hank to blame all this on Connor.

That said, it’s hard for him not to feel some resentment towards the android, not when he can hear Connor’s moans blending with yours.

So that’s what that sounds like.

Hank turns the TV up louder, cursing himself for the momentary senseless desire to listen in. 

He turns it up even louder when the bed starts banging against the wall. He feels like he's an extra in a goddamn comedy skit. Or, he would, if all of the noises weren't going straight to his groin.

Swearing under his breath, Hank tries not to acknowledge his body's reaction to the sound of the two of you moaning each other's names. He sits there, clenched like a fist, eyes glued to the TV but attention drawn again and again to the bedroom. 

He shifts like he's going to get up, then stops himself. Caught between two equally strong impulses, Hank groans. He thinks he feels a headache coming on.

It  _ had  _ been a long time. He'd be lying if he said the proposition didn't excite him. His mind keeps roaming back to the image of you at the doorway, and the look you gave him; the way you'd looked when you were sprawled out on his bed, writhing underneath Connor.

It feels wrong, dirty, but Hank doesn’t feel all too empowered by his current situation either; nobly abstaining and twiddling his thumbs in here. 

Hank’s learned over the years that any decision that has to start with “Fuck it” usually goes horribly wrong. But...

“Fuck it.”

\--

Hank faces the closed door for a good few minutes longer than he needs to. He's a grown man, he shouldn't feel so goddamn nervous.

He lifts his hand and knocks heavily.

When there’s no immediate answer, Hank considers sidling away and pretending he was never there. He feels like a naughty schoolboy who’s been sent to the principal’s office - equal parts embarrassed and secretly thrilled at his misbehaviour. He manages to hold his nerve long enough for the door to swing open.

“Oh, thank god,” You say, “I was starting to lose my voice."

Hank rolls his eyes as you step back to let him in. The bed, at least, is still in one piece.

"So that was just for me?" Hank's voice is gruff, a smirk growing when he notices Connor seated on the end of the bed - still mostly clothed. "Damn. Sorry, Connor."

"I know you pretty well,” You close the door and lean back against the wood, looking almost too good to be real - with your body stretched taut, your head leaning back, eyes dark and focused on the two men in front of you. Hank looks away, refusing to fall under your spell, but he notices Connor’s completely absorbed - his brown eyes focused with laser-precision on your body, the yellow ring on his temple blinking furiously. Huh, if he’d known it was that easy to get under his skin he would’ve brought you on board the night he met him.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask. Connor looks at Hank, his body leaning towards you slightly, almost as if he’s asking for permission.

“I think that’s up to you,” Hank tells you, and Connor looks back to you. Considering he can’t usually shut the android up, he’s a little surprised by Connor’s silence. Perhaps it’s the situation; it isn’t exactly something he was programmed for - deviant or not.

“Maybe we should go in order of stamina - lowest to highest,” You suggest, smirking. Hank glowers at you, understanding exactly what you’re implying - but it did mean he’d be first in line, and he isn’t opposed to that. Connor seems to catch your drift as well, because he finally pipes up.

“We shouldn’t ignore refractory periods,” His tone is matter-of-fact, but both you and Hank can hear the slight strain in his voice. “Perhaps if the lieutenant watched first-...”

“Yeah, well, maybe the lieutenant doesn’t want to watch,” Hank snaps, even if the idea excites him more than he thought it would. Goddamn fucking androids know too much.

“I could always just sit back and watch you two go at it, I’m already enjoying the show.” You fold your arms. That shuts them up. Hank grumbles under his breath and moves towards you, and you push off of the door, rising to meet him. Before you can touch him, he catches your hands in a gentle way.

“You sure this is okay?” He asks quietly. Your face softens at once, dropping the act, and you nod.

“Yeah, I trust you. Both of you,” You reply, before that teasing tone comes back: “And this is really fucking hot.”

Hank lets his anxieties go then. Even after the shower and the time that’s elapsed since his last drink, he still feels like he’s being carried forward on whiskey fumes, dull to the squawks of his overactive brain. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair, having to come up on your tiptoes to reach his lips. 

Hank had gotten his life together since the revolution. He kept his hair trimmed and clean, and his beard in check, and he’d cut down on the alcohol and crappy food. He’d even joined a gym. He saw his progress as a physical reflection of the change inside him, and it made him feel good. He feels better for it, stronger; dare he say younger? As you sweep your fingers through his hair and down the front of his shirt, he can’t help but feel a bit proud as you smile against his lips, noticing the difference in him.

Hank flushes when you pull back, a little embarrassed, already anticipating your comments about how he’s changed. You surprise him, then, when you put your hands on his chest and push him back, back, until his legs hit the bed. You turn him so you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress with him in front of you. 

Christ, you’re looking up at him through your eyelashes, leaning back just enough for him to see your body. 

Connor’s stood watching you both, typically android in the way he analyses the scene without even a shred of self-consciousness. Hank feels the knee-jerk impulse to tell him to quit staring and find something to do, but when he glances at the android he sees that he’s watching in fascination, LED thrumming, eyes slightly heavy, head tilted. Hank can see a surprisingly large bulge in the front of his jeans.

The sight, and the knowledge that Connor wants to see what he does, goes straight to his crotch. As if you can tell, you palm the front of Hank’s sweatpants, before tugging them down his legs. Stifling a groan, Hank buries his fingers in your hair and guides you backwards, until you're lying back on your elbows.

If you want him that badly, he’s going to do it properly. He remembers how you like it.

Hank massages your hip with one hand, the other tugging your leg around his waist. You hum, your hand sliding up his forearm to bring it up from your hip to your breast. Swiping his thumb across your nipple, he grips the flesh just tight enough to make your head tip back, exhaling shakily, your hands coming up to grip the duvet by your head.

Hank realizes quickly that maybe you were right about his stamina - he’s already painfully hard, and it has been a while... He might not last long at all. Impatiently, he hooks his hands under your back and pulls you up off the bed and towards him, aligning himself with your entrance. 

You’re already soaked from whatever Connor had been doing to you. His imagination ran rife, the memory of you and Connor moaning - even if it had been exaggerated for his benefit - making him move faster than he would have otherwise. Had he been inside you yet? Or was the bed banging against the wall just part of your performance? Had he brought you to your end with just his mouth? His fingers? His fucking voice? Anything seemed possible. 

“Hank...” You breathe, trying to relax as he presses against you. He likes the raw groan that edges out of your throat as he works himself in, the way your fingers tighten on the duvet and your legs cling to his waist, held up by his hands. He slows to help you both adjust, before leaning forwards, angling himself and repositioning your legs to reach the depth he remembers you like. He knows he’s found it when you scream, a rough wail spilling out of your mouth like you’d forgotten how to speak.

He begins to roll his hips against you, pulling your body to meet his at every thrust, the steady slap of flesh drowned out by the increasing volume of your combined moans. Hank can feel you tightening purposefully around him, your calculated way of bringing him closer to the end, urging him to lose control. He has the delirious thought that if you try that with Connor, you’d have to worry for your safety - the android wouldn’t abide your teasing. Propping one leg against his chest, he uses his free hand to thumb your clit, returning the favour as your muscles flutter and you begin to rock against him.

“That’s it...” Hank growls, his own orgasm rapidly approaching. He can feel his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate, your walls clinging to him like your body can’t bear to let him go.

“Hank... Don’t sto-... ah...” You cry, your back arching. The feeling of your legs shaking against him is too much. You’re close... so close... and he... he is...

From the corner of the room, Connor lets out a quiet groan, and somehow that’s what does it.

Hank nuzzles his hips as close to you as possible, overcome as you both reach your end at the same time. There’s something about Connor’s presence that reminds him that you’re both just human, just animals, and his brain can’t rewrite that narrative in the moment. You groan and twist your back at the sight, your legs wrapping around him, keeping him there as if you enjoy his mindless, carnal show of possession.

When he finally lets you go, he can see the marks his fingers had left in your skin. He steps away from the bed, collapsing into the chair by the wardrobe, while you stretch and sit up, almost mocking him with your ability to recover so quickly. You’re too busy watching him trying to catch his breath to notice Connor’s approach. When his strong hands clasp your biceps you jump, breath catching, that perfect composure faltering for a moment as the android skims the tip of his nose across the shell of your ear.

Hank realizes that Connor was right: he wants to watch. He wants to see Connor reduce you to a shaking mess, and for you to do the same to him. He wants you both to get a taste of your own medicine.

“I don’t want to wait,” Connor murmurs against your ear. That was you and Hank’s doing; since he went deviant, you’d both been encouraging Connor to be clear about what he wants and what he doesn’t. It took longer than expected for him to get used to it, but his usual bluntness soon took over. Hank had heard more than enough of “ _ Actually, Lieutenant, I don’t want to do your paperwork today _ ” and “ _ Tonight I want to watch this documentary about single-celled organisms rather than the game, I hope that’s alright with you _ ” for one lifetime. He’d almost started to regret his part in encouraging it, but this might make it worth it. At his blunt admission, and the direct, hoarse way he breathes it into your ear, your eyelashes flutter against the skin of your cheeks, your lips pressing together as if to stop them from falling open.

“That’s too bad...” You whisper; your voice slow and careful, as if you can hide the way it’s shaking. Your eyebrow quirks as your head tilts very slightly towards him: “I think I’m feeling a little tired.”

Hank can see Connor’s face clearly over your shoulder. He isn’t even remotely convinced by your excuse. In fact, when his eyes meet Hank’s, he gives the closest thing to a smirk that Hank had ever seen. It falters when you shift your hips, clearly feeling him pressing into you, and then you shift them a little bit more, earning a sharp exhale of breath from the android’s nose.

“Sorry...” You mutter, innocent as a lamb, and it’s your turn to smirk at Hank. “So... what are your orders, lieutenant?”

Hank huffs an awkward laugh, but both you and Connor are looking at him. The android’s LED illuminates your temple in a golden hue as he looks over your shoulder.

“You  _ are _ always saying we don’t do as we’re told,” Connor points out. Hank’s fingers catch on his sweatpants, tugging almost anxiously at the material around his thighs. Normally he’s out of action after his first round, but he can already feel himself stirring beneath his pants. He’s never done anything like this before.

“Well... fuck...” Hank can feel his cheeks growing hot. You tilt your head a little at the sight, in a movement that’s eerily similar to what Connor does when he’s confused. “What do you... I mean... do what you want...”

You roll your eyes, “Maybe you should go and take another cold shower, Hank.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Hank bites back. “A good use for your mouth.”

“How dare you.” Your eyes narrow but Hank can see the light blush colouring your cheeks, and it isn’t out of embarrassment. You turn your attention to Connor, and the poor android looks like he doesn’t know where to look as you wriggle out of his grasp and begin to crawl down his body. Your fingers push aside his open shirt, trailing lightly across his chest as you adjust your weight, settling back on his thighs.

“Is that your thirium pump?” You ask lightly, lowly, barely loud enough for Hank to hear. Your hand is pressing against a spot on the left side of his chest. Connor nods.

“Ye-... Yes.”

Neither of you fail to notice the way his voice stutters, distorted by the barest rumble of static. Connor presses his lips together, his LED red and blinking, following your every movement with his eyes as you turn to look at Hank.

“It’s racing.”

Hank lets out a little huff and a nod, his lip twitching at the look of aroused delight on your face. You trace little patterns across his torso, your delicate fingers finding every groove in the plastic chassis beneath, and Connor tries not to squirm. It’s fascinating to watch; for a machine built to withstand so much, it seems it’s the most delicate touches that are too much for him. You shuffle down further, lingering to press a kiss to the spot above the pump.

“Can I see?” You ask, gazing up at him with your chin resting on the flat plane of his abdomen. Connor, the advanced prototype, the unshakeable hardass that had Hank convinced he was just an emotionless machine until it was almost too late, gave into your request without so much as a questioning glance.

The skin of his chest fades back to reveal the white plastic beneath. Hank hadn’t seen much of Connor’s actual skin, only his hand when he was interfacing with other androids or pieces of tech. He definitely hadn’t seen what lay beneath. The panel slides back to reveal the intricate biocomponents pieced together to create him. It all looks like a jumbled mess of blue-tinged engine parts to Hank, but even he can see the thrumming blue orb of his thirium pump. You were right, it’s racing. 

You scatter featherlight touches across the sensitive inner-workings of his system, and Connor reacts immediately, head tipping back, synthetic tendons pulled taut in his neck. It’s not clear if you’re causing him pleasure or pain, but since he doesn’t push you away, Hank has to assume the former.

His suspicions are confirmed when you press your lips against the metal ring in the very centre of his chest. Hank had learned a bit about androids since meeting Connor and he’s pretty sure that’s some kind of regulator - whatever it is, the feeling of your lips against it makes Connor groan aloud, a tinny, electric sound like the crackle of an old TV. Hank sees your eyebrow quirk at the sound, and your tongue snakes out to lightly trace the metal. Connor’s hands jerk up to grab your head, just a little too rough before he gets control of himself. Hank likes it, these little moments when Connor loses control. He knows he’s a deviant, but Connor doesn’t exactly make a convincing human yet - he still walks and talks like an android, and he’s still a smartass, always ready with a cold, calculated remark. So when he stops being such a fucking  _ machine,  _ Hank gets about as much satisfaction from it as you do _. _ His fingers cradle your neck, gently but firmly pulling you away.

“Too...” He struggles to get the words out through the vibration distorting his voice. “T-...”

“Too much?” You finish, and he nods quickly. You’re kind enough to give him some respite, but Connor shouldn’t relax yet. You continue further down, turning your attention to something a little less android.

Hank leans forwards just a little bit as you pull down his jeans, fishing in his underwear to expose him. Hank doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s a little disappointed that Connor looks so human down there. Is that weird? Probably. You don’t seem too fussed, sliding down until your lips are hovering just above him.

Hank knows exactly how Connor must feel. He’d been at your mercy like this before, with your eyes watching him from beneath thick, dark lashes; the damp, warm sensation of your breath; the coy fucking smile on your face like you know exactly how much control you have over him.

Your tongue slides out to give him the same treatment as his regulator, a soft, probing lick that slowly works him up. Hank can hear Connor trying to control his breathing, drawing air in and huffing it out as if he needs to work to stabilise his temperature. Before you take him properly into your mouth, you give him a gentle warning: “Don’t move, or I’ll get Hank to hold you down.”

That proposition doesn’t sound too bad to Hank, but Connor obeys, holding absolutely still as you sink down his length, taking most of him into your mouth and using your hand on what’s left.

Sometimes Hank wonders what past-him would think about where he’d ended up. He’s pretty damn sure that if someone had told him he’d be sitting in his own bedroom, willingly watching you give Connor a blow job, he would have either laughed or punched them in the face. 

And yet, here he is. 

He can’t exactly see what you’re doing to Connor, but he can imagine. You have an absolutely vicious tongue, and Hank isn’t just talking about the way you speak, and you seem to have a sixth sense for exactly what pressure to use when you want to drive a man crazy.

It seems to be working on Connor. He’s staying still, but it’s pretty clear from his red LED and the visible tension in his synthetic muscles, his lips pressed tightly together, that he’s struggling.

“Are you close, Connor?” Hank almost doesn’t recognise his own voice. Connor starts, clearly not expecting it either. Looking slightly alarmed, Connor’s about to speak when you hum appreciatively, cutting off Connor’s reply with a deep groan. “She feels good, doesn’t she?”

Connor’s eyes squeeze shut, his throat bobbing. “Hank-...”

The sound of his name on Connor’s lips, sounding absolutely debauched, is enough to rile him up. When you reach up to rub your fingers against the still-exposed ring of Connor’s thirium pump regulator, Connor trembles, struggling to obey your order to keep still.

“Shit,” Hank grunts, working his hand beneath his waistband to ease his returning erection. He squeezes the base, just enough to relieve some pressure so he can concentrate. Connor’s close, it’s pretty clear, but Hank doesn’t want him to get off that easy. “That’s enough.”

Connor gasps, looking unbelievably offended, but you listen. Leaving him with one final stroke, you rear back and look to Hank for instruction, your gaze dipping to the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Do you want me to ride him?” You prompt, your smirk growing at the look of pure nervous anticipation on Connor’s face. “Or should I let him do what he wants?”

“Hm, that’s something,” Hank starts, hand still down his pants. “What DO you want Connor?”

Hank kinda likes the way you turn to look at Connor, as curious to hear the answer to his question as Hank is. Connor's LED is a brilliant scarlet as he considers his answer, his eyes lingering self-consciously on you and Hank.

"I... I think I would find it..." His throat bobs, a purely aesthetic feature that has somehow survived deviancy, becoming a very real indicator of his discomfort. "I think I'd like to know how it feels to... to engage in..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Time’s up!" Hank cuts him off. "Just fucking ride him."

You're more than happy to oblige. Hank has the best angle as you position yourself on top of the android. Connor’s displeasure at Hank cutting him short disappears at the sight of you rising up in front of him. When you reach down to take him in your hand to align him, he bites his lip hard enough to draw a drop of thirium, and when you lower yourself down, his length disappearing inside you, Connor’s mouth falls open, face contorting deliciously in overstimulated bliss. 

As turned on as Hank is, he recognises that Connor might not be able to handle too much more. You don’t need him to warn you, you’re rolling your hips at a slow pace that’s probably just short of pleasurable. Your eyebrows are pinched; short, hurried pants coming out of your parted lips as you lean forwards to take in more of him. Connor’s hands move to grip the feminine curve of your waist, fingertips biting into your soft flesh hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to care. You reach down to stroke, gingerly, at the regulator, earning a low groan from the android. To Hank, it sounds like a warning. If you don’t stop teasing him, Connor’s going to lose control.

It’s a warning you ignore.

Leaning your hips backwards, you duck to pulse your tongue against the ring. Immediately, Connor lets out a strangled, staticky groan, his hands on your waist holding your weight completely as his hips snap up against you.

“Conn-...ah! Connor, please... Fuck!” Your helpless little cries elicit a groan from both men. Hank can’t ignore his erection anymore, his hand moving quickly, desperate to reach his end in time - he can tell neither of you will last very long. 

You’re trying to hold yourself up, your hands pressing against the bed and his chest, but when the panel on his torso closes and Connor moves one of his hands from your waist to your clit, you’re not doing much more than scrabbling against his grip. The sounds coming out of you are the same as when Connor fucked you with his tongue - it’s enough to drive Hank crazy. 

He’d been hoping to make this all last a bit longer. He’d wanted to watch you and Connor fuck each other in a million different ways. But this is a good start.

Your whimpers are growing more high-pitched, almost sobbing into the crook of Connor’s neck as he tortures you with a consistent, deep pace and the frantic, inhuman speed of his fingers rubbing against your clit.

You cum first. Your whole body tenses, clinging to Connor for dear life as your muscles tremble and you lose the ability to speak.

Hank is next, tugging on himself until it’s almost painful, not caring at all that he’s just cum in his own pants like a goddamned teenager.

Connor is last, copying Hank’s earlier movements as he buries himself as deeply inside you as he can, a gargled spew of static blurring with a deep, satisfied moan.

Energy completely spent, the three of you stay there for a long while, the sound of you all trying to catch your breath filling Hank’s bedroom. Finally, you slip free of Connor to collapse on the bed next to him. Connor’s LED spins from yellow to blue as he leans over to give you a blissed-out kiss that’s just a bit too passionate. He wasn’t lying about refractory periods.

Hank leans back in his chair, knowing he’ll probably have to shower again and not caring at all.

He feels like a dirty old man, but fuck... it’s worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the comments and Kudos! It really butters my biscuits.
> 
> I have other Connor/Reader fics you can find here: [How To Heal You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998368), [Touch-Starved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250543), [Duet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061894), [Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738274), [What I Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969554), [Symbiosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803791), [Android Puberty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703520/chapters/67801961), [Christmas Party](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959723/chapters/68477054) and [Science Fiction/Double Feature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696857/chapters/70354788).


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